


The Bone Queen's Consort

by Misswhy



Series: The Bone Queen's Consort [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misswhy/pseuds/Misswhy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Stiles is that while he's good at getting others out of predicaments, he's even even better at getting himself into them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bone Queen's Consort

The thing about Stiles is that while he's good at getting others out of predicaments, he's even even better at getting himself into them.

Which is why Derek isn't the least surprised about getting a phone call from Scott McCall at ass o'clock in the morning about the kid having gotten himself kidnapped.

Again.

*

This time, it's witches.

Which is better than last time, where it was a rogue Omega Stiles insisted on throwing himself literally in front of, who in turn thought it a good idea to drag a heavily bleeding Stiles off into the woods for a midnight snack. Before that, it was the whole bloody business with the Alpha Pack and how the boy hasn't been Bitten yet as a by-product of insisting on getting himself involved in werewolf-skirmishes, Derek has no idea (he carefully doesn't examine the possibility of Stiles as a werewolf. Just, no. Not going there).

Stiles isn't even in his pack. Scott, wannabe-alpha that he is, has that doubtful pleasure.

Scott, who is on the other end of the frantic phone call, babbling about, yes, witches and about how Stiles is gone and he wouldn't just leave his dad like that, without at least a note and his bedroom reeks of that nasty magic smell, you know that smell, Derek, (and yes, Derek does know that smell. It's like honey and freshly cut grass, a smell that should have been pleasant and is, for about five second, before you realize that it's worming its way into your very bones, saturating your lungs, forcing the air out, _choking you_ ) and the _book_ is missing and Stiles promised he wouldn't take the book anywhere-

“What book,” Derek asks and Scott falls suspiciously silent. How this kid has gone this long without anybody figuring out all his secrets with one hard look at him, that's yet another thing Derek will never know (Stiles, his mind tells him helpfully. It all comes back to Stiles).

“Scott, did you and Stiles by any chance steal a magic-book from a witch?”

“Nooo,” Scott says. “More like, a coven of witches.”

Right. Of fucking course.

*

When they finally manage to track down Stiles, the kid doesn't even want to be rescued.

“Not that I'm not happy to see you, very flattered and all that,” Stiles says when they remove the gag (Derek is pretty sure that's standard protocol for Stiles-napping. Gag the little bastard. Not like Derek hasn't had that particular notion himself). “But could you maybe come back in like, five hours?”

He's lying on the floor in the cellar of the head witch's _bungalow_ , of all things, bound and dressed in what looks like ceremonial robes that might or might not have been purchased in a shop for live role-playing costumes. Scott and Derek stares at him, their clothes and hair singed from the witch's magic defenses, their blistered skin already healing.

“-you see, I've been appointed main course in the coven's summer solstice virgin sacrifice, which yeah, that was the face I made too when they told me, but hear me out, it doesn't as much involve me being violently sacrificed, but more my _virginity_ being violently sacrificed, _repeatedly_ , which is an idea I can get fully behind-”

“Dude, they're like, my _mom's_ age-”

“I _know_ , okay, but did you _see-_ Scott, your mom doesn't go around in skin-tight leather with _cleavage_ -”

“Mental images, Stiles, God, mental images _I did not need-_ ”

“You're _sixteen_ -” Derek interrupts before their squabbling can get even more out of hand, starting to untie the boy's wrists and ankles. “We're getting out of here, _now_.”

“Seriously guys, just _five hours_ , beggars can't be choosers, it's not like I have lot of time to date with all the running around saving your furry asses, even if there was anyone in my own age-group wiling to give me the time of day, let me tell you, I am _fine_ being ravaged by magical cougars, _more than fine-_ ”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek says, giving up on the ropes (Magical. Figures.) and stopping the gag back into the boy's mouth before throwing him over his shoulder, fireman-style.

*

The thing about about Stiles is that he isn't brave. Derek can smell the fear on him, always. Teenage hormones, the sweet-smelling sweat of physical exercise, Scott, his dad, his car, his home. And above all these smells, the sour stench of stress-sweat, the prey-like smell of deep, paralyzing fear.

The thing about Stiles is that he isn't paralyzed. In the least. The boy is half-scared to death and still jumps into the fray head-first, hitting the the ground running, thinking on his feet, always, always thinking.

Except when he's really, really not.

*

They're on their way to the deep woods a town over, the very woods that Derek's parents always warned him about, for reasons they wouldn't even tell. Which wasn't ominous at all and Derek would love to heed their advice and stay the fuck away, except that _someone_ has been reading police reports they have no business getting their dirty, little hands on and apparently people have been going missing in and up to these woods, a man every thirteenth day for two months, like a clockwork.

And that someone has _somehow_ gotten their hare brained best friend convinced that it's their job to investigate and stop this, whatever 'this' is.

And that somehow resulted in a phone call to Derek, because since they rescued Stiles from the witch's bungalow, Scott seems to be under the the impression that he and Derek have some kind of Stiles-managing truce going on.

Which they haven't.

At all.

But suddenly it isn't just Stiles and Scott being involved in this, it's Stiles, Scott and Allison and that means Lydia and _that_ means Jackson and that means that the rest of Derek's betas know too and while Erica and Boyd could care less about people going missing outside their territory (Isaac cares, too much. It's going to be a problem one day), they do care about the opportunity of a field trip without Peter.

Peter, who has graciously offered to hold down the fort while they're away, which might or might not be Peter-speak for trying to get in the pants of Scott's mom.

Again.

Which Derek isn't going to think about.

At all.

Derek knows that Mrs. McCall has been given a lifelong supply of wolfsbane and knows how to use it, and that Peter knows this – so whatever happens, at least he'll behave himself. Hopefully.

So, yeah, not thinking about that and neither is Scott, by the look on his face as Peter gives his blessing as soon as the murder-mystery field trip is mentioned, circumventing Derek's authority _again_.

Good times.

*

They should not have come here.

There's something wrong with these woods. It wasn't obvious in the daylight when they arrived, but now night is falling and even the humans can tell. Lydia and Allison are keeping close to their mates and even Stiles has fallen silent, the fear-scent coming off him in waves, as always. And as always, he keeps going.

They don't mean to split up.

It's like a bad horror movie – one moment they're all trudging along, Stiles and Derek in front with the map the boy has made of the places where they will most likely find something interesting (his words and Derek carefully didn't asks what 'interesting' covers in this case), the next moment Scott and Isaac are running in the opposite direction, chasing a sound only they can hear. Allison is hot on their heels, because where Scott goes, she goes, because _someone_ has to keep her idiot mate alive in these situations. The rest of them aren't worried at first; Stiles has given them all walkies-talkies and Scott quickly reports back, confused, about their wild goose chase, but alright and everything seems to be fine.

Until it happens again, Boyd and Jackson suddenly scenting the air and chasing off.

And again. Lydia and Erica, gone.

And then it's just Stiles and Derek and one hotspot on the map coming up.

*

Derek takes his eyes of the boy for one moment and that's all it takes.

*

Later, when he sits in Stiles' dad's kitchen, he will tell Mr. Stilinkski that Stiles knew what he was doing, that it was a choice, that he wasn't afraid.

It will be a lie.

*

It's some kind of ancient burial site. Of course it is.

It's full of mist glowing in the moon light, casting strange shadows, and the smell of honey and freshly cut grass is thick in the air. But more prominent is the iron tang of fresh blood and Derek turns around to get Stiles and _get out of here, now,_ but Stiles-

Stiles is not alone.

There's woman standing besides him, clad in bones and shadows and she is talking to Stiles, but Derek can't hear her voice, only Stiles' answers.

“Genim. My name is Genim. What- Yes, of course I'm afraid- _No_ , don't do that, _please don't do that_ , I'll- I'll come with you instead.”

The woman smiles to Stiles, a satisfied smile full of teeth, leans forward to kiss his forehead. Stiles looks calmly into her eyes and bows his head, saying _My Lady._

And that's it. It is done and there is nothing Derek can do.

Stiles turns to him, his hand clasped in the woman's grip.

“Take care of them, Derek. Your pack, Scott, my dad. Tell him the truth, the whole truth. He deserves it, okay? And don't let him drink again, don't let him eat- his diet- _Please_ , Derek take care of him. And for God's sake, get out of that serial killer house, dude, seriously that's not a way to live. Just... take care of them all, okay? Please?”

“I promise, I'll take care of them.” Derek says, his voice hoarse and wants to go to Stiles, to try to do _something_ , there must be he can do – but he can't move, can barely breath.

“Thank you. Goodbye, Derek.”

 _Stiles, don't do this, please-_ Derek wants to say, he wants to _beg_ , but he's choking on the smell of honey and grass and blood and all that comes out is a pained whimper.

Stiles turns around and walks away with the woman at his side, disappearing into the mist.


End file.
